. & I. sighed.

"We will pursue the subject later, Harrison," he said. "In the meantime,
promote some one else on the staff, if necessary. Do your best to fill
Roberts' place adequately."

"Very good, sir."

Dredlinton lounged into the office a few minutes later. Phipps welcomed
him without any particular enthusiasm, but promptly dismissed the typist
to whom he had been dictating.

"It happens that you are just the man I want to see," he declared.
"Sit down."

Dredlinton sank a little wearily into an easy-chair, after a glance of
disappointment at the retreating figure.

"Can't think why you always have such damned ugly girls about you,
Phipps," he yawned. "Gives me the creeps to look at them."

Peter Phipps smiled as he drew a box of cigars from his desk.

"Then I will tell you the reason, my friend," he said. "For pleasure
there is no one who appreciates beauty more than I do. For business
I have a similar passion for efficiency. The two are never confused
in my mind."

"Regular paragon, aren't you!" Dredlinton murmured. "Why did you want to
see me, by the by?"

"What happened last night?" Phipps asked a little abruptly.

"I obeyed orders," Dredlinton told him. "I told her ladyship that I
should be home to dinner and probably bring some friends. I was a little
late but she waited."

Phipps smiled maliciously.

"She didn't dine with Wingate, then, or go to the theatre?"

"She did not," Dredlinton replied. "I put the kibosh on it, according
to orders."

Peter Phipps pushed the cigars across the desk towards his companion.

"Try one of these before you enter upon the labours of the day," he
invited, "and just see what you think of these figures."

Dredlinton glanced at the papers carelessly at first and then with
genuine interest. They were certainly sufficiently surprising to rouse
him for a moment from his apathy.

"Marvellous!" he exclaimed.

"Marvellous indeed," his Chief assented. "Now listen to me, Dredlinton.
Why are you sitting there, looking like a whipped dog? Why can't you wear
a more cheerful face? If it's Farnham's cheque you are worrying about,
here it is," he added, drawing an oblong slip of paper from the
pigeonhole of his desk, tearing it in two, and throwing it into the
waste-paper basket. "A year ago, you told me that the one thing in the
world you needed was money. Well, aren't you getting it? You have only to
run straight with us here, and to work in my interests in another q